A Midnight Production
by Lechery
Summary: VanillexFangxLight, or Neapolitan. The stage is set for the players to enter; there are rules one must obey. SMUT ONLY! No plot.
1. The Show

A Midnight Production

Disclaimers: FFXIII is not mine. No infringement intended.

Pairing: LightningxFangxVanille, Neapolitan.

Spoilers: None

Rating: M. This is smut and SMUT only.

A/N: No plot at all. Lightning and Fang are established, Fang and Vanille are established. Time to get freaky. I can`t imagine any of what I`ve written is actually true to character; I`ve just turned them all into perverts with a De Sadian flare.

OOO

We live a whirlwind life, caught in the gyre of chaos, spinning round the funnel of it with our loves across from us on the other side, reaching out with fingertips scantly brushing our own. We are out of reach. It is in this madness – the temporary universe of Pulse – that we exist. I do not expect anyone else to understand us or to know why we do what we do. In the face of terror and brutality, one should be horrified, numb, paralysed by it all. We feel nothing of the sort. When grief consumes us, we overcome it; when fear grips us, we defeat it. And when we are impossibly alone, vulnerable and desperate in the late night hours, exhausted from the day, desire takes us by force. We satisfy it, every bit of it until we're whole again.

We are wild, natural like the land itself.

I sit opposite the grove – the one that no one knows of but us – hidden in a discreet little nook next to the bushes. There is a sizable rock waiting for me there: my throne. A small camera rests in my lap. In front of me the stage is set, framed on either side by thick vegetation. In the middle, the players enter: first the huntress – Fang – leads the girl by the hand and guides her to a blanket on the soft ground. And the girl – Vanille – fumbles at her belt buckles, clumsily divests herself of the heavy fur kilt. She moves to unbuckle the other side and the skirt falls away from her at an angle, half covering and half revealing the milk-white flesh of her bottom.

At last the skirt crumbles in a heap on the floor: I am privy to the back of her lower half, lithe and young and full. I bite my lip, jealous of the fingers that knead her there, pinch her there; I grind my teeth aching to sink them into her virgin flesh, to mark her though I know she doesn't belong to me. Fang cups the girl's bottom with her hands and pulls her forward, leans around the side of it to nip at the flesh. Her gaze lifts to meet mine. She knows I'm watching. Fang digs her teeth into a soft, white thigh, grins wickedly as she does it, stares at me. Insolent. I'd smack her if she was within reach. She knew better than to tease me.

The girl gasps from the sensation; her head tips back in ecstasy, eyes close. Sweet girl, lovely little thing with such a young face she could hardly be eighteen, never mind the nineteen years she claimed to be. How I longed to be the one exploring her flesh, the first one to introduce her to the delicious aspects of her body and all of its delightful nuances. Fang had that pleasure once, discovering not only herself, but Vanille in the process, inducting her into womanhood, tasting her for the first time. I don't harbour any envy over it; I long to taste it for myself.

The huntress wastes no time, positions the girl until I can see them from the side. She directs the play, decides which is the best angle for my camera eye. They lie lengthwise; Fang is on top of her, tongue ploughing into Vanille's mouth, sending the girl into a daze. With her mouth fused to the Vanille's, the huntress squirms out of her sari, peels her shorts off and tosses them on the ground. Their lips part with a loud smacking sound and Fang lifts her top over her head. Vanille follows and begins to remove her jewellery. My jaw clenches. Fang's hands seize the girl's wrists.

"Leave it on," she says softly. We are very much alike.

An impish grin spreads across the girl's face and she leans back, legs apart; jewellery suspended from the beads around her neck dangles between her knees.

Fang attacks her mouth, lingering for a few moments before she trails a path down her shoulders, down the valley between her breasts, captures a nipple between her lips. Vanille arcs her back and moans; her hand clutches a fistful of Fang's hair. The girl's tongue darts out between her lips, wets the full bottom one, teeth bite down on the swollen flesh. The huntress is ravenous, devours the girl's ample breast and moves onto the other. Her moaning fills my ears and I cross my legs, ignited by the spectacle. The camera begins to tremble.

Vanille pushes her back and latches onto her breast. Fang cups her face and lifts it, coaxes her onto her back.

"This is all for you, my dear," the huntress purrs. Her eyes flick toward me discreetly. "All for you."

She is directing again, positions Vanille so that she is facing me. I can see the front of her body in full: her perfectly round and rose-tipped breasts, her tiny waist and flared hips, alabaster skin that funnels into the red-gold divot between her legs. Fang disappears stage right and then returns with one of her favourite tools. The leather straps criss-cross beneath her buttocks invitingly, the idiotic-looking member bounces between her legs as she walks. Vanille has caught sight of it. Her cheeks flush deeper red.

Fang sits behind her, opens her legs so Vanille can settle between them. The huntress folds the toy against her abdomen and crushes the girl against her chest. She rests her head upon Fang's shoulder; the huntress bends forward and sucks on the pulse at the girl's neck, licks her collarbone. The girl's breasts heave with each exaggerated breath. I bite my lip.

"You ready?" The huntress asks.

A coy smile. "Find out."

The huntress swallows the grin in a bruising kiss. Vanille reaches up with both hands and digs her fingers into the back of Fang's head, laces her hands in her raven-black hair. The huntress pries her lips from the girl, wets two fingers in her mouth and dips them between the Vanille's legs. She parts the slick folds, rubs through them, up over the sensitive flesh at the top, dives down and circles at the opening but doesn't push inside. Vanille gasps with each movement; little moans puncture the relative silence.

Fang groans. "Yeah, I'd say so."

She cups Vanille's breasts from behind and strokes them, aware of how tender they'd become. Vanille lifts her bottom as Fang pulls the member out from the space between them; the girl hovers for a moment as the huntress lubricates the long shaft with her wetness, runs it between the girl's slippery lower lips.

Fang moves the girl's legs apart, reveals the glistening wetness between them. Vanille shivers from the frigid sensation of the night air touching her bare sex. The huntress uses her chin to move strands of red-blonde hair from Vanille's ear, kissing the flesh she uncovers. She widens the girl's legs further, gratuitously exposing her to me as she bends her own legs beneath them, holding them suspended in mid-air. Fang lowers Vanille back down onto her and releases the girl's legs. Vanille tilts her head back from the sensation, her thighs splayed wide above the support of Fang's knees.

The huntress guides the member between the girl's swollen lips and plunges inside the yielding flesh. Vanille cries out. Fang looks up at me again, unable to see me, knowing that I am watching. I can see the dark-purple toy nearly swallowed by Vanille's body. Fang explained to me why she liked that colour: so I can see it, she'd said. Flesh colour was strange, pastel colours too bright and alienating. But dark colours – like the deep violet she'd chosen – were perfect for show, contrasted with her own tanned flesh, with Vanille's pale complexion.

"Do you like that?" She asks. Her gaze has yet to tear away from mine.

Vanille nods and moans incoherently.

Fang starts to pump her hips, milking the essence from the girl's body. She bites a creamy white shoulder as Vanille bucks her lower body in response. A tiny stream of crimson drips from Fang's lips: she's drawn blood from the girl's shoulder. Oral fixation. Her mouth always needed to be occupied. She laps at the warm red liquid gathering on Vanille's shoulder and the redhead becomes more invigorated, pounds against the impaling member.

"Oh, Fang..." Vanille sighs, "Oh, yes…"

The girl's body trembles violently and as her legs shudder; her head lolls back. Fang holds her on the brink of release, revels in the languid moment until a spasm ripples through Vanille's abdomen, her hips thrust forward once, twice, and then another, each time more firm. Vanille moans aloud, primal and incoherent as she climaxes, her fingers wound in the long dark locks at the back of Fang's neck.

Hooded eyes look up – oblivious to the ministrations of the woman behind her – and lock with mine. My breath catches as I inhale. She is looking at me. Vanille runs her tongue between her rouged lips. Surely, it's a coincidence. Fang pauses, following the girl's vision, chuckles to herself. I grit my teeth.

Vanille continues to stare, riding the toy between her legs subtly, making sure I'm paying attention. Her hands move down to flick her nipples. A jolt of pleasure runs though me spiked with rage. She knows. I'm sure of it.

The huntress pulls out of the girl's body, leans Vanille back in her arms to kiss her. They play for a while, tongues licking inside their mouths, parting to tease along their jaws. Vanille abruptly pushes her away and stands, saunters through the bushes that frame the two of them; her eyes are fixed on my position.

I curse as she uncovers my hiding spot. Naked but for her jewellery, Vanille has her hands on her hips. An arm snakes out and snatches the camera from my grasp. She raises it to her face and turns the lens upon me. Her breasts heave with her drumming pulse, her laboured breathing.

"Well, soldier, did you like it?" She asks wickedly.

Bitch. That's something Fang would say. Perhaps they're more alike than I've given them credit for. But Fang I can punish. This one is not mine. The red recording light is on; I am made powerless by a sprite.

Fang emerges behind her, a mischievous grin on her face. She cups Vanille's shoulders, rests her chin atop the red-gold head. She too is panting. The toy she had has been discarded somewhere backstage.

I cross my arms over my chest and scowl. "You told her."

The huntress nods.

"That wasn't part of our deal," I say.

"Light... "

"She did it for us," the young Pulsian interjects, the camera still recording us, still focused on me.

"How's that?" I ask.

"You get off on watching someone who doesn't know you're watching them," she says. "I get off on being watched."

I consider this for a moment. Fang speaks up.

"Didn't wanna spoil it for you."

I get up. "You still lied. You'll have to pay for that."

I wrap my arms around her neck. She smiles her signature smile.

"Punish me then," Fang purrs.

I run my hands over the huntress's naked body, over her breasts, send a finger through her velvet folds. She shudders against me. The girl licks her lips. I take the older Pulsian's hand and lead her back toward our little stage.

"Vanille," I call behind me. "Bring the camera."

To Be Continued...


	2. Encore

A Midnight Production

Disclaimers: FFXIII is not mine. No infringement intended.

Pairing: LightningxFangxVanille, Neapolitan.

Spoilers: None

Rating: M. This is smut and SMUT only. There's also anal sex in this one! You've been warned.

A/N: No plot at all. Lightning and Fang are established, Fang and Vanille are established. Time to get freaky. I can`t imagine any of what I`ve written is actually true to character; I`ve just turned them all into perverts with a De Sadian flare.

OOO

"Vanille, bring the camera."

The soldier's voice rang in her ears. She dutifully obeyed.

Lightning reached the glade and dropped her backpack on the ground, shimmied out of her jacket and skirt, her undergarments until she was as naked as the huntress and the girl. She was the director now, writer and producer. The stage was hers and hers alone, the players hers to be placed. She rifled through her backpack, retrieved her own toy from the bag and fastened the harness around her waist. The soldier pointed to the discarded toy on the blanket.

"Vanille, put that on. And give me the camera."

The girl nodded, handed the camera over. She bent and gathered the toy, struggled to affix the leather harness to her hips. Lightning watched her through the camera lens, ran her tongue over her lips. A wicked grin hinted at the corner of the soldier's mouth.

"Fang," the soldier said. "Get on the blanket. On your hands and knees."

Vanille moistened her lips as she watched the huntress kneel; their eyes met. Lightning tracked Fang's movements with the gadget, zoomed in on her expression.

"Look at the camera, darling," she said. What was the magic of watching something mediated by this machine, she wondered, when she could simply tilt her head and view it with her own eyes? Instead, she chose to observe the huntress through the film grain with the numbers at the bottom right corner of the screen ticking away the time, dating the precise sequence of their little show. It was better to be a voyeur than a simple spectator – was that it? Regardless, she watched her like a cyborg with a mechanical eye, giving life and thought to the empty metal parts of the dead device.

Fang lifted her head upward, smiled and waited on her hands and knees. She shuddered.

"What will you do to me?" She asked.

The soldier ignored her. "Come here, Vanille."

Her focus switched, framed the girl on approach, zoomed out to catch her body in full. Lightning balanced the camera in one hand, dipped the other to the toy between her legs and pinched the tip of it. Vanille's gaze lowered, her lips parted; she ran her tongue along her teeth, an inquiring gaze rose into the camera frame. Her cheeks flushed. The soldier's free hand dropped from the member and cupped the girl's face; her thumb rubbed bruising along her bottom lip. Light wrapped claw-like fingers around the girl's neck, pulled her head downward.

Vanille swallowed the soldier's cock, grasped Light's hips in her hands. The camera followed her. The girl's eyes darted up, a dash of curiosity in them before they slipped closed and she concentrated on the rubber toy. Lightning's hand clamped over the top of Vanille's head, pushed her face along the shaft. The girl gagged, an extra bit of thick spit rose up into her throat and stuck to the member. The girl yanked her head away, eyes welled with water. Fang had switched positions, sat with her hands in her lap; the expression on her face was enigmatic: mouth open, eyes narrowed. Muted disgust? Desire? Light couldn't decipher it.

The soldier coaxed Vanille up until she stood, held the camera away from them. She leaned in and lapped up the tears on the girl's cheeks, kissed along her jaw line until she captured her bottom lip beneath her own. Vanille whimpered at the contact. The soldier's tongue dove into the girl's mouth. Fang's pulse drummed through her chest. Their lips parted.

"Fang, on your knees," the soldier demanded. She handed Vanille the camera.

The girl tracked the soldier's movements, stepped back to capture them both in the frame. Lightning bent her knees and gripped the lubricated shaft, placed it at Fang's slickened entrance. The huntress moaned and arched her back, bottom rose up inviting the soldier to penetrate. The soldier collected Fang's dark hair in a ponytail, laced her fingers through the feather-like strands, clenched her raven hair in a fist.

"You would like that wouldn't you?" Lightning purred.

The member poked inside just slightly. Fang moaned in agreement.

The space was suddenly voided, cool air hitting her wetness. The huntress gasped; Lightning claimed a new position, one a tad higher than the place she was before.

"Vanille, come here," the soldier said.

The girl wandered over to the two women; the camera held them in focus. Lightning took it from her and put Vanille in the frame.

"Spit," the soldier said, her thumb and forefinger separating the flesh of Fang's ass, exposing the target.

Vanille gargled in the back of her throat, gathered a gob of saliva and it shot from her mouth in a long string, dipped slowly to collect froth-white between Fang's back entrance and the tip of Lightning's toy.

"Take the camera," Light said. "I want to see her face. Every detail."

The girl seized the device and sat in front of Fang cross-legged. She zoomed in on the huntress's face. Fang winked at her, a sly grin on her lips. But a sudden mask of agony drowned all her wit. Vanille bit her lip, a little jolt of pleasure ran through her, amassed more wetness between her legs. The girl gripped the huntress's chin, pinned her head with one hand and kept it from moving out of view. Fang grimaced and groaned, panted, eyes squeezed shut and opening full of water and surprise, shut again as another violent throb came. Her fingertips curled around the blanket, gripped the fabric in a white-knuckled fist.

"Does it hurt?" Vanille asked, her voice young and feminine.

Fang moaned and it turned into a hiss, "Yes."

"Stop?"

"No," Fang barked, squirming as Lightning eased into her. "No."

"Put her in your mouth, Fang," came the soldier's command.

Vanille pitched the camera down; Fang took the toy between her lips, sucked on the rubber shaft. She wet it generously, gasping for breath between Lightning's thrusts and her own. Her head bobbed up and down the member. The girl watched through the camera with rabid interest, desire flooding her, her mouth agape as scattered moans escaped her. For the first time she was witnessing Fang beneath her, not just physically but in totality: submissive, powerless. It was strange to her, almost pitiable.

She lifted Fang's chin until the member fell from her lips with a pop; up she rose onto her hands. Vanille held the camera out, turned the lens upon herself. She kissed Fang tenderly, wished it to be more than mere consolation. The huntress trembled, electricity racing though her. She was tied to the women she had always been impossibly connected to. Vanille had all of her affection, her love, her virginity and familial bond. They'd marked each other irreparably. But it was the force behind her – Lightning – that was her violent, tumultuous fire. Another love, as strong as the first.

Fang ground her ass against Light's hips. Light bent to brush her mouth over the base of Fang's spine.

"Give me the camera," the soldier demanded.

She took it and filmed the toy driving in and out of the huntress; a thread-thin stream of blood broke through her sensitive flesh, collected in the liquid slicked along the member. She thrust the blood back into Fang's body, laid claim to her. The flesh was hers to split apart if she wanted and hers alone. Whatever relationship she had with Vanille, Fang's ass belonged to her. The soldier bit a large chunk of the huntress's flesh and smacked it. It turned red from the abuse.

"Mine," Light said under her breath.

Vanille caught it, tore her mouth away from Fang's ear and licked the slope to her shoulder, eyes focused on the soldier.

"Mine too," the girl's tone was firm, defiance in it.

The soldier chuckled, bemused by her confidence. She handed the camera to Vanille.

"Put it where it can see us all," she ordered.

The girl pulled away from the mess of bodies and placed the camera on top of Light's backpack, balanced it precariously at the top. She checked the angle and the frame, made sure the picture had enough illumination. When it was perfect, she turned toward the stage and assimilated into the picture. Lightning smiled at her, pleased with her performance.

Fang's flesh had yielded; the unorthodox penetration into her body transcended the realm of pain, became pleasurable. She could barely concentrate, consumed by the buried, warm coil in her belly, the familiar sensation creeping up from the apex between her legs. The soldier's breath was at her ear.

"Lean back," she said. "Sit on it."

The huntress moved to sit and the soldier moved with her until they were both lying flat on their back, Fang on top of her, the member still stuck inside her.

"Come here, Vanille," the soldier gestured toward her and pointed at the toy between the girl's legs. "Put it in."

Vanille leaned over the huntress, her fingertips guiding the member into Fang's slippery folds. Fang cursed, yelped from the initial sensation of it. It was too much, impossible to focus on one single sensation. Vanille waited for Fang to adjust, rested atop her.

"You move," Light commanded and the girl obeyed, hips undulating.

A moan ripped from Fang's throat, primal and bizarre noise. Her body burned, flared hot and threatened to burst. Vanille plunged into her; the girl's lips latched onto the huntress's breasts, onto her mouth. When Fang grew too desperate to kiss her, she leaned over the huntress's shoulder, found Lightning waiting. That insistent tongue licked along her mouth, her own tongue, her teeth, sucked her swollen lip. Lightning loved oral play, ate voraciously whenever she could. Fang's voice sent them both into frenzy, their own desire spiking as the huntress climaxed, gritting her teeth; flared nostrils struggled for air.

She went limp on top of Lightning, beneath Vanille, still attached to both of them at the hip. Vanille pulled out first, then Light, and the huntress rolled off of her, stayed panting and motionless on her side. Her body ached though it thrummed with the lingering remnants of ecstasy. She crawled toward the camera, trapped it in her grasp and turned it on the soldier and the girl.

"Both of you," she groaned, her voice hoarse. "Take the harness off."

The soldier crossed her arms over her chest, sat on her bent knees. Vanille looked to the soldier for approval. Light ducked her gaze. The girl fumbled at the clasps and stripped out of the toy, tossed it to the side. After a pause, the soldier got to her feet and did the same.

"Lie down, Vanille." Fang continued. "And open your legs."

Vanille followed, shuddered in the paralysing abyss. The huntress filmed the girl for a while, panned the camera around her, captured the vulnerable position, the equally helpless expression on her face. She then turned the camera on the soldier.

"Put your mouth on her," she said.

Light walked toward the girl casually and rested on top of her, brushed her lips across the girl's mouth.

"No," Fang barked. "Lower."

A coy grin emerged on Light's face. She dipped to seize a nipple between her lips.

"Lower!"

The soldier crept down the girl's body; Vanille moaned. Her tongue dipped into Vanille's bellybutton and continued downward, flicked between the velvet folds of her moistened flesh.

"What kind of dainty work is that, soldier?" Fang smiled.

Lightning cut the camera a glare. She turned back to Vanille and proceeded to ravage her, ate her with desperation. The noises of her sucking at the flesh filled the soundtrack on the film. A layer beneath it was Fang's hard breathing. She zoomed in on the girl's face: eyes squeezed shut, rouged lips parted. Vanille moaned and sighed, gasped at the sensations Light elicited with her tongue. Fang brought the camera to Vanille's shoulder and focused on Light.

"Look at the camera, darling," she said playfully.

The soldier's eyes narrowed on her, mouth latched onto Vanille's sensitive flesh.

"On your knees, soldier!" The huntress commanded. "And keep your mouth where it is."

The soldier lifted her ass and curled her knees under her body. Fang slid Lightning's legs apart with her hands, shimmied underneath her body and brought the camera with her. She filmed Lightning's stomach. Her tongue fondled the piercing at the soldier's bellybutton, circled it, teased it. A hand wound into her hair and forced her further along the soldier's body. There was nothing quite like the scent of a woman, and as Lightning's desire filled Fang's nostrils, she sucked the soldier's lower lip into her mouth.

Light groaned aloud, came away from Vanille. Her hand wound tighter in Fang's raven-black hair. The huntress jammed her tongue through, licked about with fury. Lightning gasped.

"Sweet little bitch!" She moaned, her voice breaking with a chuckle.

Vanille pulled the soldier's mouth back down to her cunt, rubbed it back and forth on her face.

They'd lost track of the camera; it lay on a tilt half-sunk into the blanket. Neither of them cared. The girl crushed the soldier's mouth to her centre and began to ride out the pleasure that tore through her. She'd no patience left anymore, no desire to hold it, to stretch it out and make it last. Instead, she crashed through it furiously with rapid, twitchy movements, her jewellery clattering from the motions, her hips bucking into the soldier's face.

She squirmed away from Light and snatched the abandoned camera from the blanket. Vanille returned to the soldier, lifted her chin up until her face filled the frame. She examined the soldier through the lens, ice-blue eyes hooded with arousal.

"Make her come, Fang," the girl said, her voice unwavering.

The huntress lapped at the soldier's wetness. Two fingers pushed inside. Lightning gasped and a moan rumbled through her chest. She tried to squirm away from the grip Vanille kept on her chin but the girl was resolute and yanked her back into place. The soldier seized a fistful of the blanket and squished it, begged Fang to release her.

Fang held her at the precipice. Vanille watched the soldier's eyes roll back and slip closed; a delirium overcame her. Her body hung in the oblivion with only one way to go, the inevitable end collided through her punctuated by long guttural moans as she met a prolonged climax. Spots swam multicoloured behind her eyes. She became dizzy, pleasure still jittering through her nerves, pulling at the fingers buried inside her. The huntress slipped out of her and got to her knees, gathered Lightning in her arms.

What was to be made of them now? Toys and cum splayed all over the blanket, the camera, still rolling, in the young girl's hands. She deposited the little device on top of the soldier's backpack, paid little attention to it as it tumbled to the side and landed upside-down in the grass.

The huntress kissed the soldier and placed her gently on the blanket. A knowing glance passed between them, tender in expression. Vanille approached them gingerly and Lightning tossed to the side; Fang invited her to lie between them. The girl complied, sandwiched between the soldier and the huntress. Fang kissed Vanille's cheek; Lightning kissed the side of her breast. The older women played with the girl's jewellery.

It was unclear who fell asleep first, or whether the warmth of their bodies coaxed them all into slumber together, but it was morning when the soldier's eyes cracked open to the heat and harsh light of the sun. She rose, mindful of the two women still sleeping and headed toward her backpack. She shook it, as though the contents of it might reveal something. But what she was looking for had vanished. Lightning cursed aloud.

The camera was gone.

OOO

Somewhere near the Vallis Media, off in a corner so as not to be seen, the camera rewound the tape and was switched to play. As the video roared to life on the tiny screen, with just enough battery power left to play it, he thought himself the smartest boy in the world. Certainly the luckiest. Fang, Vanille and Lightning all naked and huddled together on a blanket when he found them, a camera off to the side. He could see the soldier's legs beneath the frame on-screen: she held the camera as Vanille and Fang stripped off their clothes. He tried to contain his glee.

Hope unzipped his fly and stuck his hand in his pants, unaware of the angry female mob approaching from behind.


End file.
